


The High of the Fallen

by cfordwrites



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Some Fluff, a bit of smut, and a whole lot of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-23 18:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7475751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cfordwrites/pseuds/cfordwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reader is a consultant for Scotland Yard and like Sherlock, she has made a name for herself by doing a good job at what she does. Her most notable closed case was of the London Face-Stealer a few years back, but as she slowly moved-on with her life, she accepted the faults in her past. Everything was already wrapped up and tied neatly but then it suddenly unravels all over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a bright and sunny morning. John was reading the day’s newspaper while casually sipping tea and Sherlock was still in his robe, playing a mellow tune on his violin. John glanced up Sherlock who was staring through the window.

“No case then?” John asked as he continued to read the paper.

“Not at the moment, no.” He replied.

“I’m sure Lestrade will have something-” John’s sentence was cut off by the ringing of Sherlock’s mobile phone.

“Speak of the devil…” Sherlock smirked before answering the call. “Hello?”

The stench of thawed flesh assaulted the senses of London’s locals. Red splashed the pavements and the sound of bones being grounded under the shoes of passersby was more than enough reason for people to seek hysterically for help. Lestrade was assigned the case and it being out of his depth, he called for the services of Sherlock and John.

Back at the lab, all bits and pieces of the victim were splayed at the autopsy table. If it wasn’t for modern technology, you never would’ve guessed that this sizable mush of flesh and bone with some hair sticking out here and there was once a person.

“So the victim was found like this,” Sherlock gestured his head the slab. “at the stretch of Marylebone Road?” He raised an eyebrow. Lestrade breathed a sigh of affirmation. “Neat.”

“Sherlock.” John immediately interjected. “We talked about this? You don’t compliment murderers.”

“Why not? Whoever did this was a genius!” He said.

“My thoughts exactly.” An unfamiliar voice interrupted. You stood at the doorway of the lab and all eyes went in your direction. “Mind if I take a look?” You asked. Your eyes shifted from Molly to Lestrade, waiting for permission.

“Be my guest.” Lestrade stepped back from the slab to make room for you. You nodded and approached.

“Sorry, who are you?” Sherlock squinted and you just smirked at him in response. You produced a latex glove and used it to carefully wade through the gritty pile.

“This is Y/N Y/L/N. She works for-”

“With.” You corrected, attention not leaving the evidence.

“Right.” Lestrade coughed. “She works with Detective Inspector Beckett.”

“Wait. You’re the Y/N Y/L/N? The one who caught the London Face-Stealer, yeah?” John asked with amazement in his face but you flinched at his words.

A shot of electricity ran through your spine as you remembered that case but you were able to hide your emotions.

“You know my work?” You stood up straight from leaning down as your mouth formed a tight line.

“Yes, well, I’ve read all about it in the papers along with other cases you’ve worked on!” John looked at you, wide-eyed and Sherlock frowned at his partner’s fangirling. “Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve seen a single photo of you in any of those articles, ever.” He added with growing curiosity.

“I’m camera-shy.” You joked and John just nodded at your words, a stupid smile plastered on his face. Sherlock made a face of annoyance.

“I can’t believe I’m meeting a legendary detective!” John chuckled as he swayed his head from side to side. “I’m Dr. John Watson.” He extended his hand.

“Yes. I know the both of you quite well.” Your eyed him and Sherlock. “And I’m not a detective, Dr. Watson. I’m just a consultant.” You politely shook his hand with your latex-free one.

“A bloody good one at that.” Lestrade remarked.

“You’re too kind, Detective Inspector. You’re giving me far too much credit.” You answered humbly. But he was right, you do your job and you do it well.

“Yeah, I bet.” Sherlock silently muttered an insult but it was loud enough for everyone to hear it. The room went quiet, John nudged Sherlock with his elbow quite loudly and Sherlock let out a small ‘ow’.

“Anyway,” Lestrade breathed, breaking the silence. “What brings you here, Y/N?”

“Oh, right. It almost slipped my mind.” You half-chuckled. “I know how the victim died.” You declared. All of them stopped breathing and looked at you.

“Y-you- What?” Sherlock blinked in confusion.

“You heard me.”

“How? Was he drowned in liquid nitrogen and dropped to the ground from one of the buildings?” Sherlock raised his eyebrows but clearly he was testing you.

“That makes sense!” Lestrade, Molly, and John all said at the same time.

“No, it doesn’t!” You laughed. “Everyone knows that a frozen cadaver would just bounce when dropped, not shatter.” You replied, looking straight through Sherlock’s icy blue-green eyes.

“But… You already knew that,” You exhaled. “You just wanted to see if I did.” You added.

Wrinkles formed at the corner of Sherlock’s eyes as he looked down at his feet, smiling to himself. “Well,” He breathed as he straightened his posture. “I believe I owe you an apology, Ms. Y/L/N.” He bowed his head a bit.

“You can call me Y/N, Mr. Holmes.” You extended a hand.

“You can call me Sherlock, Y/N.” He took off his gloves before shaking your hand.

You and Sherlock agreed to work on the case together and you proved to be a good addition to the team. His scientific and organized mind matched the unpredictability of yours. In other words, your genius complimented his. This was confirmed when you both deduced that the body was indeed submerged in liquid nitrogen and dropped to the ground from one of the buildings, only before it was dropped, it was fed to a wood chipper first. You were able to catch the killer by using John as an unwilling bait, he was nearly thrown into the wood chipper by the killer but the key word here is ‘nearly’ and now another bad guy was off the streets so, contrary to what John says, everything’s good.

After the case, Sherlock asked for your number saying that he’d update you if he stumbles upon interesting cases which obviously is just an excuse to get your number. You gave him your number and made the first move by inviting him out for coffee the next morning. As time passed, you and Sherlock grew fond of each other. It wasn’t easy but with the constant pushing of John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock finally confessed that he loves you.

And today marked your second anniversary.

You woke up to the feeling of warm hands against your skin and warm kisses on your bare back. You smiled as you heard the little sounds Sherlock made when he pecks your skin. He planted the kisses randomly then he trailed from the center of your spine to your shoulders and now you could hear him humming against your skin.

He kissed the crook you neck before he whispered. “Happy Anniversary.” He then proceeded to nip playfully at the flesh by your shoulder.

“Ow!” You squealed, feeling it sting a bit but you ended up giggling.

“You love it.” He said, voice still heavy from waking up.

You turned your back to face him, a smile tugged at your lips when you saw that he, too, was still naked. With one hand clutching the sheets to cover your sacredness, you placed a hand on his face. You smiled at him and he smiled sweetly back at you.

“I love you.” You said while staring deeply into his eyes, which seemed to be of a different colour because of the sunlight. Your words caused butterflies in his stomach to flutter and his heart to warm up.

“I love you, Y/N.” He said as he lowered his head to meet your lips. The kiss was still and simple but it meant so much to you and little did you know that it meant everything to him.

When he broke the kiss for a second to catch your breaths, you caught a glimpse of his eyes staring back at you with untainted love and appreciation. He pulled you again for another kiss but this time he moved his mouth. His tongue swiped your lower lip, begging for entrance so you let him have his way. He tasted like tea and honey, making you pine for more of him, heat pooling in your core. He took your lower lip between his teeth as he pulled away for the second time.

“What was that for?” You smiled warmly at him.

“I just-” He breathed. “I love you, Y/N.” He laughed. “Not the kind of ‘I love you’ that we say to each other everyday, I mean, I love you.”

“For a man who has an extensive vocabulary, you’re really running out of words.” You chuckled sweetly at him.

“Rude.” He used that voice again, the voice that turned you into a puddle everytime you hear it. He pushed a lock of your hair behind your ear as he nuzzled your noses together. “I don’t know how else to say it though.” He bit his lip.

“Show me, then.” You said, making him open his eyes abruptly. “Show me how much you love me.”

“N-now?” He giggled. “But I made breakfast…” He reasoned as he pulled slightly away to able to look at your face.

You got up and knelt on the bed, making him pay attention as his thin white sheet cascaded down your body. He blushed beet-red and swallowed the lump in his throat when he saw your everything.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N.” He worshiped, voice laced with admiration. He sat up a bit, resting his back on a high stack of pillows.

You reached for his hands and he offered them up to you. You intertwined your fingers together, licking and pulling your lower lip between your teeth. You slowly approached him.

“Touch me, Sherlock.” You told him. “Come on, love. Touch me.” You pulled his hands and placed them flat against your skin.

“Y/N…” He called as he ran his hand across your belly and up to cup your breast, you were straddling him now. ”Soft.” He muttered. His other hand went around your back, pulling your body flush against him.

“Sherlock.” You breathed as he took one nipple in his mouth and fondled the other one by rubbing it between his thumb and index finger. You feel his erection pressed against your arse, covered by the sheets.

One hand slid down your wet heat, making you hang on to his hair. He let out a low growl. He inserted a finger at your entrance and your moan of pleasure was caught by Sherlock’s mouth. He kissed you deeply as he continued to work your entrance. Once you felt the build-up, you broke the kiss.

“Need you inside me.” You audibly breathed. He nodded and pushed the covers off of him. His hardness prodded at your entrance, making you shiver. He carefully lowered you onto him, allowing you to accommodate him entirely.

“Y/N.” Sherlock breathed once he was completely inside of you, stuffing you full. “Are you okay like this?” He asked. “Do you want to lie down?”

“I’m perfect, Sherlock.” You smiled before giving him a kiss. Sherlock was really a gentleman. He listened to your needs and acted in accordance to them. He always paid attention to you, sometimes a little too much that you feel like he was spoiling you.

He started to move inside you and you felt blissful. Your bodies moved in sync and you fit together perfectly. It wasn’t long before you and him neared climax. His thrusts grew more eager and your latch on him became stronger. When you reached your peak, both of you screamed each other’s name. Sherlock carefully laid you beside him as both of you panted heavily, trying to catch your breath. From sitting up, he bent down a bit to kiss your forehead.

“I’ll put on the tea. You rest for a bit and meet me outside. I really did prepare breakfast.” He whispered with his mouth against your forehead and you giggled at him. “I love you, Y/N.”

“Love you too.” You sighed with contentment. You were elated. Everything in your and Sherlock’s life was so utterly perfect that you thought it was too good to be true.

And it was.

Your phone started buzzing, displaying Detective Inspector Beckett’s name so you answered immediately.

“Hello?” You answered almost too happily.

“Y/N. I know you asked for a day off because it’s your anniversary and all but,“ He sighed. “I wanted you to hear this from me first.” His voice was dead serious.

“Rick, what’s going on? You’re scaring me…” You said.

“It’s about the London Face-Stealer…” Your body tensed at the mention of his name. “The son of a bitch escaped Pentonville this morning.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be angst.

“…Y/N?” Rick called out. “Y/N, are you still there?”

Your eyes were wide open, staring into nothingness as your breathing stopped. You clasped the mobile phone firmly in your hand, holding it against your ear.

“…Are you sure?” You asked flatly, trying to mask the indiscernible anger and repugnance in your voice.

“I wouldn’t call you unless I was a hundred percent positive, Y/N.” He sighed and you could’ve sworn he was pinching the bridge of his nose in disappointment. “God, I’m so sorry…” He let out.

“Not your fault, Beckett.” You replied. You stayed quiet for a few more seconds, squeezing your eyes shut as you thought about how to go about this. “Yeah, uhm, Rick? I need to go, okay? Bye.” You quickly hang up tossed your phone on the bed.

You stood and slipped on your robe. Putting your hands up to cover your face, you sat on the edge of the bed. Your insides fought on what emotion to give in to. You wanted to scream and cry but your overwhelming rage was keeping you from breaking into a thousand pieces. You put your hands down when you felt it shaking too much. You clenched your fists until your knuckles turned white, cursing yourself for being too feeble.

Sherlock was pouring hot water in the teapot when the loud noise of blunt impact followed by shattering glass stopped him from his actions.

“Y/N?!” He sprinted towards his bedroom, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he thought of the worst. He saw shards of his full-length mirror scattered on the floor and glittering against the sunlight. You, on the other hand, were standing at the foot of the bed, seemingly out of it.

“Bloody hell, Y/N, are you alright?!” His voice broke whatever trance you were in. You blinked a few times and found Sherlock in front of you, cupping your face and looking at you worriedly.

“Huh?” You looked around the room and realized what you’ve done. “I-I’m so sorry.” You stammered. “I’m leaving.” You said as you quickly freed yourself from his grasp, making him knot his eyebrows in confusion.

“What do you mean? Where are you going?” He raised his voice a bit as you collected your clothes that hanged from a chair.

“I’ll replace your mirror, don’t worry.” You avoided answering his questions as you walked out of his bedroom. Sherlock caught up to you at the sitting room, getting a hold of your arm.

“I don’t care about the damn mirror!” He exclaimed as he turned you around. “I care about you. What’s going on, Y/N?” His voice begged for answers and you just stared sadly at his eyes.

“Please let me go…” You said softly.

“No.” His voice, low and concerned. “I know there’s something wrong and I’m not gonna let you go through it alone.” He said as he put his hands on both of your sides. “You’ll never be alone ever again. I swear it on my life.” He added as he pulled you in his arms and embraced you lovingly. And you just let yourself go, letting him bring down another wall around your heart.

You dropped your clothes that you’ve gathered in your arms and you returned his embrace, clutching the back of his robe, forming creases. You buried your face in his chest and heard his heartbeat, stimulated by the thought of you leaving him.

“Christ. Why do I love you so much?” Your muffled sigh vibrated in his chest, earning a chuckle from him.

“Do you?” He teased. “Just a minute ago you were leaving me.” He added as he held you at arm’s length. You gave him a small smack in the chest and for a second there, you forgot about everything until John came running up the stairs.

“Oh good. You’re up.” John huffed breathlessly as he reached the top of the stairs.

“John, this isn’t the best time.” Sherlock said.

“Trust me, you’re gonna want to see this.” John exhaled as he went ahead and turned the telly on and switched it to the right channel.

“…At 3am this morning, Thomas Sinclair a.k.a. The London Face-Stealer was confirmed to have escaped Pentonville Prison. It was nearly five years ago when the manhunt for Sinclair was put to an end by Scotland Yard’s very own Detective Inspector Richard Beckett and police consultant Y/N Y/L/N…” The lady in the telly reported as she stood outside, by façade of Pentonville.

“Turn it off.” Sherlock instructed John when he observed your uneasiness.

“No, leave it on.” You said, leaving John clueless as to who he should listen to.

“You don’t need to hear this, Y/N.” Sherlock told you.

“Pretending this isn’t happening isn’t going to make it any less real.” You gestured at the telly and Sherlock admitted defeat at your argument. The tension was somehow eased when Sherlock’s mobile phone rang. Grabbing it from the table where he had placed his violin, he saw Lestrade’s caller ID. He looked conflicted whether he should answer it with you in the room. You noticed his dilemma and let out an exasperated sigh.

“For god’s sakes,” You cursed, as you bent down to grab your clothes. “Answer the damn phone.” You hissed as you entered and closed his bedroom door.

Sherlock looked away, bitterly upset that this had to happen, today of all days. He collected himself before he answered the phone. “Hello.”

After you shut the door, your eyes immediately darted to the shards of glass on the floor. You felt ashamed at your misplaced outburst so you mentally cursed yourself as you got yourself dressed.

You knotted your brows, deep in thought as you stared at your unmade bed, showered in soft hues of yellow and orange sunlight. Remembering that you just made love in the same room that you violated, made you feel awful. Sherlock doesn’t deserve this. You don’t mean to keep him in the dark but you’re doing this for his own good…right?

You took a deep breath and looked at your reflection on the broken mirror, what’s left of it, anyway. You went back to the living room to see Sherlock and John arguing in whispers. They stopped when they noticed you were there.

“I’m going to Scotland Yard-”

“Tell her, Sherlock.” John instructed as he sat down on his chair, giving you and Sherlock room to talk.

“Tell me what?” You asked, shifting your eyes from John to Sherlock. “Sherlock?”

“Lestrade called.” He sighed. “They took the London Face-Stealer case from Beckett and gave it to him.” He explained, watching carefully of your reaction.

“…Did they tell him why?” You asked, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. “Because they’re making a mistake.” You spat. “If anyone can find that son of a bitch, it’s Rick.” You clenched your fist, jerking slightly in anger.

“I know, Y/N. I told Lestrade the exact same thing.” Sherlock softened his voice, trying to calm you down. “But he said that the orders came from the higher-ups.”

You furrowed your brows while looking at Sherlock and he looked pained at your stare. You’ve never looked at him like that. Ever. Your silence gave room for him to speak.

“Look, I know how you feel-”

“No, you don’t.” You chuckled without a hint of amusement. “This monster destroyed my life!” You said through gritted teeth, eyes brimming with tears you’ve been holding back. “How could you possibly know how I feel?” You asked Sherlock who is now looking at you like he doesn’t recognize the person in front of him.

“Y/N, I’m on your side here!” He declared.

“Are you?!” You spat.

“How could you say that?!” He yelled, extremely offended by what you said. “How dare you doubt my loyalty to you?” He furrowed his eyebrows in anger as he walked closer to you. “No one can question what I feel for you, do you understand me?!” He lectured as he cupped your face and your heart swelled at his words. “Not even you.”

You stayed still like that until both of you have calmed down. “Then bring me in, Sherlock.” You whispered a plead. “Let me help you catch him-”

“No.” He shook his head. “I can’t let you do that.” He said. “John and I are going to work this case. And we’re going to put him back to where he belongs.” He reassured you but you still feel uneasy. “Please trust me, Y/N.” He said and he had you on the verge of letting this go.

The doorbell rang and almost immediately, John said ‘I’ll get it.’ before he walked down the stairs.

“You want to sit down, love?” Sherlock asked as he caressed the side of your face. You nodded and he lead you to the sofa. It wasn’t long before John’s footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs. He entered the room with a gift box wrapped in a ribbon.

“This was left at the door.” John put the box down on the table in front of you and Sherlock. “It’s addressed to Y/N.” He added.

You took the tag and flipped to see the words ‘To: Y/N’’.

“Who’s it from?” Sherlock asked you.

“It’s not written here.” You showed him the tag. “Did you see who left it?” You directed your question to John.

“No. I tried to, but there were a lot of people walking about.” He explained.

“No return address either…” Sherlock twisted the box to search for any writing. 

“I’m gonna open it.” You said as you pulled on the ribbon to untangle. You opened the lid and what you saw drained the blood from your face. Your mind went blank as you stared at its contents.

“John, phone Lestrade. Now!” Sherlock commanded.

“Oh my god!” John yelled once he saw it, nervously rummaging his pockets for his phone. “Fucking hell, is that real, Sherlock?!” He brought the phone to his ear and asked as he paced around in front of you, his face, beet-red in fright.

Your hands were still holding the box’s lid and it was shaking. Tears that refused to go down your face were now relentless as rivulets of scorching liquid ran down your face. You swallowed the lump in your throat, wanting to scream.

Sherlock saw what was in the box and because you and John were already incapacitated to function at the moment, he elected to be unaffected by the revolting content of it. He peeked his head more and found a Hallmark card tucked under.

“Y/N,” He said when he read the card, his breath deepening. “What the does this mean?” He handed you the card and you read it.

‘Happy Anniversary, mummy.’ Those three words were written in the card, making you huff for breath as you stared at the box again.

“My baby…” You whimpered under your breath and there it- she was. The face of your little girl sent to you in a box.

“I don’t understand, do you know her, Y/N?” John asked a question Sherlock already knew the answer to.

“…She’s my daughter.” You weakly replied before Sherlock’s phone buzzed.

“Y/N. John.” He called your attentions to show the text from an blocked number. ‘There’s more where that came from ;)’

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on Tumblr @221b-cfordwrites :)


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